


Ride

by JustRamblinOn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Daryl and Merle own a garage, F/M, Mechanic!Daryl, Smut, and proof I know nothing about cars, rich!reader, seriously real smut I'm evolving, tagging is hard, there's a motorcycle and a Camaro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRamblinOn/pseuds/JustRamblinOn
Summary: Money is nice. You certainly don't mind being the sole heir to the Carmichael Diamonds empire.Men certainly seem to mind, though. Either they don't like that you've got more cash than them or they like it a little too much. After you finacee cheated on you, you swore off dating for good. Then your regular mechanic got arrested and you ended up in Dixon's Garage, owned and operated by the unbelievably sexy Daryl Dixon and his sometimes-an-asshole brother. What's a girl to do but take your best friend's advice and go for a ride? Maybe hiding your privilege wasn't the best choice you've ever made, in hindsight.Sure, money's nice, but you never cared about it one way or the other. Everyone else, it seems, does.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon/Reader, Daryl Dixon/You
Comments: 30
Kudos: 124





	Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhi_Writing_Adventures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhi_Writing_Adventures/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, everyone!
> 
> Yes, I'm a couple of days late but such is life. I hope you all enjoy this little bit of Daryl smut, my Christmas gift for my girl RhiKitti. 
> 
> For my Liar, Liar people, don't worry! I'll be back to updates soon now that the holiday madness is over! (Also go give Rhi some love; she's got a couple WIP's and she needs motivation to continue!)
> 
> Love, 
> 
> JustRamblinOn

“I wanna ride.” The words popped from your mouth when you saw the bike pulling into the gravel lot, sleek black and chrome and growling like a wild thing. 

“Ha! The bike or my baby brother?” 

You felt the flush starting on your cheeks and gritted your teeth as you turned to the mechanic in the dirty wife beater tank. His coveralls were tied around his waist, a suggestive grin and a light in his eyes that just screamed ‘asshole’ for some reason. He winked at you as you looked down your nose at him, your best fuck-you expression firmly in place. 

"I was referring to the bike," you said coolly. 

"Aww, don’t be like that, sugar tits." 

You were spared a response to that one by a sharp voice calling "Merle!" The owner of the voice came striding toward you, his eyes raking over your car first and then you. The most intense expression you'd ever seen was in that look. You blinked and swallowed, throat suddenly dry as he turned to the older mechanic, scowling and tossing his hands up in an annoyed gesture. 

"Ya know you're supposed to wait for me to deal with customers," the new guy said. He turned to you and offered a hand. "Daryl Dixon. Sorry if my asshole brother said anything- uh, well, if he said anything. Just in general. That's a great car, ma'am." 

You took the hand automatically, despite the engine grease caked under the nails and smeared on his coveralls as well. His eyes held yours, all that intensity directed right at you making you lose any coherent thought. "Ah, thank you. He made some, um- never mind." 

Daryl shot an annoyed look at his brother, and you realized by the smirk the asshole- Merle, you thought Daryl had called him- was sending you that this was the 'baby brother' who'd been on the bike you'd admired. The blush started again, and you hoped like hell they'd think it was just the Georgian sun.

"Shit. I can imagine. Merle, ya dick, leave the lady alone. You even ask what was wrong with her Camaro, or were ya too busy hittin' on her to remember your fuckin' job? Uh, sorry, ma'am," Daryl added, wincing as he obviously realized he'd just dropped the f bomb in front of a customer. 

"Come on, lil brother, don't use such language in front of the customers. Might offend their delicate sensibilities now," Merle drawled. 

Somehow, you found yourself fighting a smile. "The customer is not offended. I'm Y/N Addison. It's nice to meet you both." 

"Some of us more’n others, I'm sure," Merle said, tipping you another wink. 

You rolled your eyes as Daryl shot him a look and muttered something under his breath. "Sure, sweetcheeks," you said dryly. "Some of you more than others. Like your brother- though he doesn't look too little to me." 

You had no idea where the words- or the goddamn balls- came from, and you went red to your hair when Merle threw back his head in a loud, booming laugh, and Daryl's eyebrows shot up in surprise. You could have sworn Daryl was blushing as well, but Merle leaned in a clapped you on the back firmly. 

"That was a good 'un, babydoll. That was a good 'un. Well, I guess I'll just leave ya in Daryl's not-so-little hands." He leaned in conspiratorially and wiggled his eyebrows at you. "Bike's a damn good ride. Ask him." 

"Go away now," you told Merle firmly as Daryl looked between you in confusion. Merle laughed again and ambled away, waving one hand lazily as he ducked back into the garage. 

You turned your attention to Daryl, studying the shaggy hair and intense blue eyes. Jesus, he was a looker, wasn't he? And fucking built, too, you thought as he shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You suddenly realized you were staring and looked down, scuffing one foot in the gravel as you tried to get your brain to work. "Um. So. My car. It's, ah. Doing something weird." 

He smirked a little. "Wanna narrow that down any? 'Somethin' weird' don't tell me much." 

You glared. "Ok, look. Yeah, it's a classic car. It's a '69 Camaro, I know. And I own it. That doesn't mean I know cars. I have a guy for that, damn it. So no, I can't narrow it down more than 'weird'." 

"Aight, fair enough," he said. "Sorry. Just usually people got a car like this, in prime condition, they mess with it themselves. Not sayin' there's a rule about it, mind. Just that's what we usually see around here. So, what happened to your guy?" 

"Pardon?" you asked, eyes widening. Was he seriously asking what happened to your fiancée? How the hell did he know about- 

"Ya said you have a guy who knows cars," Daryl said slowly, looking confused. “Assumin’ ya got a regular mechanic?”

Oh for shit's sake. What the hell was happening to you? It was like since this sexy-ass man had ridden up on that bike, someone insane had been in charge of your body. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. He got arrested. For killing someone. Crazy, right?" 

"I work with Merle. Ain't that nuts," he muttered. 

You cracked a grin at that. "Yeah, he's interesting." 

"One word for it. Aight, we'll check this baby out." Daryl tossed his hair from his face, his eyes raking the lines of your matte black pride and joy. "Got a ride home, someone ya can call? It ain't gonna happen today, sorry. Shoulda said that first. Just me and the asshole here, and I got that Harley to work on some more. Merle's knee deep in a couple oil changes and other shit, so it'll be tomorrow before we can take a look." 

You'd been expecting that and pulled out your cell. "I've got people. Give me a call when it's done?" 

"'Course. Keys?" 

"In the ignition," you said with a nod. "Tell your brother I said goodbye, and he's a dick." 

Daryl grinned, pausing in the open driver's door. "Yeah, he is. I'll pass it on. Oh, hey. Ya give him ya number?" 

"Why in the hell would I do that? He called me sugar tits," you blurted, scandalized by the thought that someone might think you'd been interested in that asshole. 

Daryl's eyes rolled toward heaven. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. I'll talk to him about customer fuckin' service again. Meant so's we could call ya, though. When it's done." 

Would you make it through five minutes with this man without blushing? Jesus fuckin' Christ indeed. "Oh. Yeah, sorry. Um." You reached into your pocket, looking for a pen, and Daryl held his phone out to you solemnly. 

"Ya can just put it in if ya want. Promise, he's an idiot and a sexist jerk sometimes, but he knows the rules. Ain't gonna harass ya or ask ya out or nothin'." 

You shrugged. "He wouldn't get very far. He's certainly not my type." 

Daryl just grunted as you keyed in your name and number, taking the phone back from you when you were done and tucking it into his pocket. "Aight then. I'll give ya a call tomorrow, after I've had a chance to get under the hood and see what kinda weird ya dealin' with."

You nodded, dialing your best friend's number as you walked away. "Sounds good; thank you, Mr. Dixon. Hey, Maggie. Just dropped the Camaro off and I need a lift."

“So, that mechanic is hot as hell,” Maggie said with a grin. 

“Don’t start, Mags,” you muttered, heading for your refrigerator. You opened it and frowned. “Wine? Or champagne?”

Maggie sighed. “Honey, normal people don’t ask that at noon. Just sayin’. Shit, most normal people don’t have champagne in their refrigerators, period.” 

“Wine it is then,” you said pleasantly, pulling the bottle and reaching into the upper cabinet for your glasses. “Hope you’re good with white. Or I suppose I could send Denis out for some red.” 

“The building’s armed doorman is not your personal-“ Maggie cut off with a sigh when you flashed her a smile and sniffed the wine. “Damn it. Just gimme a glass.” 

You poured for her and passed it over, both of you sipping from cut-crystal heirlooms you’d been given when you moved in here. “Daryl.”

“What?” 

You looked down at the wine, smile playing on your lips. “The mechanic. His name’s Daryl. Daryl Dixon. He and his brother own it. Merle, the older one- well, Merle’s an asshole. Sexist redneck type, you know? Called me sugar tits.” 

Maggie snorted. “Sounds like a real charmer.” 

“Actually, he was kinda funny. If I wanted to piss Grandmother off, I’d go out on a very public date with him,” you said dryly. 

“Shit,” Maggie muttered. “You’re gonna get yourself cut off. Then how are you gonna pay them to fix your car?” 

“She can’t cut me off. It’s my money; in my name. That’s beside the point,” you said, waving the glass. “I’m not looking to piss her off right now. I’m just saying.” 

“What are you sayin’?” Maggie asked, her grin in place. 

You frowned and sighed, running your palm over your hair to make sure it was smooth and neat. It was a nervous habit and Maggie’s smile only grew more knowing. “Shut up, bitch,” you said with a half laugh. “The mechanic is hot. And I made a damn fool of myself, too. It was like some idiot had taken possession of my brain and cut its ties to my mouth. You would not believe some of what I said to him.” 

“Like what? Tell me. I wanna know.” Maggie leaned forward across the table, glee evident. She loved it when you made a fool of yourself, the way only a best friend could. 

You blushed again. “No. It doesn’t matter anyway. Not like I’m looking to date the man. Just get my car repaired.” 

“Uh-huh. You should take him out for a test drive.” 

You choked on the sip of wine you’d just taken. “Mags, what the hell?” 

She shrugged. “You haven’t gotten laid in months. And I’m sorry, but it’s been longer than that since you were really gettin’ satisfied. Philip didn’t do shit for you there toward the end, cause he was too busy bangin’ his new girlfriend.” 

“So?” You demanded. “What do Philip and Andrea have to do with anything?” 

Maggie set her glass down and shrugged. “You broke it off six months ago. You clearly have the hots for Sexy Mechanic Man, so go for it. The cute one, with the hair, not the one you’d date just to mess with your grandmother. When you pick up your car, ask him if he wants to get a drink. Then take that hotrod for a ride, sweetie.” 

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, and practically gulped at your wine. 

Yeah, there was no way that was going to happen. 

"We found the source of ya weird." Daryl was elbow deep under the hood of a shiny, modern looking car, cigarette clamped between his lips and coveralls tied around his waist like his brother's had been when you were here two days before. He looked up at you from under his shaggy hair, the same blinding intensity that you remembered in his eyes again. "Sorry it took a little while. Wanna hear the details?" 

"Honestly? No," you said with an embarrassed shrug. "You could tell me, but unless it was something simple like 'your oil needed changing' I wouldn't have the slightest idea what you were talking about. And if it was as simple as the oil, just spare me the embarrassment." 

His lips twitched up in a smile before he grunted and muttered a curse. He straightened up, tossing his hair from his face again and chucking what you guessed was a wrench in the direction of an open toolbox on the workbench nearby. It clanged into a collection of other indecipherable tools, and he leaned one hip on the car and scrubbed at his hands with a rag. "Ain't nothin' to be embarrassed about. Ya ain't a car person. Why ya pay people like me'n'Merle." 

"Exactly," you said easily. "Where is he, by the way? Your brother, right?" 

Daryl nodded. "Mhmm. He's home today. Weren't feelin' too good. Anyway, I got ya keys and ya invoice in the office. Come on this way." 

You hadn't realized the place even had an office, but sure enough, it did. It was cleaner than you'd have expected, considering the state of Dixon Garage's bays and, frankly, its owners. It wasn't that you were judging. Fixing cars was certainly hard, dirty work. 

Which gave those who did it truly impressive physiques, you thought as Daryl bent over the computer on the desk and tapped a few keys. Holy fucking hell. Maggie had been spot on; the man was hot as fuck. 

You shifted and looked away when he glanced at you. "So, it was something dumb, wasn't it?" you asked, casting around desperately for a topic; any topic. "My car, I mean." 

"Naw. It actually took me a bit to spot, and a bit longer to fix. Why it took two days instead’a one. So, here ya go. We send the bill in the mail, or if ya wanna pay it all right now, we offer a ten percent discount for that." 

You looked the invoice over, as expected not following any of it. You shrugged and pulled out your bank card. "I have no idea what any of this means. I'll go ahead and pay it now, though. Thank you, so much." 

"Ain't nothin'. Look, I wanna apologize again for Merle," Daryl said. He'd stubbed out the cigarette before you left the garage bay, and he looked like he was regretting it now as he chewed on his thumbnail and waited for the card reader to beep. "He's- shit. I cain't make any excuses for him, except to say he's my brother and a damn good mechanic. When he bothers to be." 

You smiled as you tucked your wallet away into your purse. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Dixon. It's hardly the first time I've been called something inappropriate. Besides, he was… he was pretty amusing, all things considered." 

Daryl snorted. "Shit. Don't tell him that. He's already infatuated enough. Called him sweetcheeks and a dick. He likes it when women stand up to him." 

You blinked in surprise, then blushed furiously as your damn mouth ran away from you again. "Yeah? What about you?" 

His eyes flickered wide at that. Even you'd heard the goddamn flirtation in your tone. What the hell? Maggie was getting in your head, and you were going to fucking blast her when you got out of here. Now, not only had you embarrassed yourself and a perfectly nice man, you'd also lost out on a decent mechanic who didn't make fun of you for not knowing your car or try to educate you in a thin ploy to get in your pants. You obviously could never set foot in here again after that comment, and it was all her fault. Bitch.

Daryl’s eyes danced as you started to stammer out an apology. "I dunno. I like my women ballsy too, I guess. Though it's pretty cute when they manage to embarrass themselves. Look, I know I said Merle wouldn't use ya number to hit on ya or nothin', but I didn't make that same promise. Can I, I dunno, call ya sometime? If not, just say so. I'm a fuckin' professional, I swear. I just like ya style." 

"I- what?" Your mouth had dropped open in shock and you snapped it closed now, trying desperately to get your brain working. As you usually did when you got flustered like this, you drew dignity around you like a cloak and channeled your mother's society voice. "I mean, thank you. I'm very flattered." 

His shoulder jerked as his eyes left yours. "Yeah, 'course. Anyway, Camaro's in good condition, all things considered. Ya guy might be a murderer, but he took damn good care of it." 

"Mr. Dixon. I mean, shit. You hit on me, so I'm just going to call you Daryl," you decided, reaching a hand toward his arm. He jerked back from the brush of your fingers, but his eyes met yours again, surprise evident in them. You bit your lip and shrugged. "I didn't say no, you know." 

He started chewing on his fingernail again, studying you. You studied him back, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah?" he said finally. 

"Yeah," you agreed. "Actually, kind of the opposite. My friend who picked me up a couple of days ago told me I should hit on you first." 

He snorted, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I ain't- I mean- shit. So, that mean ya don't mind if I call ya?" 

"Frankly, at this point I'd be disappointed if you didn't," you answered him honestly.

He looked away at that, shifting like he wanted to pull a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. "Aight then," he said softly, almost like he couldn't believe it. "Aight." 

"Maggie, stop- stop laughing and fucking help me figure out what to wear!" you complained into the phone jammed between your ear and your shoulder. 

"I'm just sayin', I told you so," she crowed on the other end. 

"That's not helpful. And you told me to sleep with him. This is just a date." 

You could practically hear her eye roll. "You know, you can sleep with people on a date. In fact, I recommend it." 

"Have you met me, Maggie? I'll sleep with him when I'm good and ready to, ok. Now can you please, for the love of all that's holy, help me? I'm having a crisis, and I need to leave in an hour!" 

"Wait. He's not picking you up?" 

You groaned and banged your forehead on the wall. "Have you seen where I live? No, he's not picking me up. Maggie. Focus. Please." 

"You don't want him to know you're loaded, right? Ok, so where's he takin' you?" 

Thank God, you thought. She was finally focusing. You paced restlessly to the open doors of your terrace, standing in the evening sunlight and trying not to stress out completely. It was your first date since breaking things off with Philip; and you hadn’t been on a first date in- well, at least three years, unless you counted the pre-arranged proper society escort who’d taken you to Grandmother’s party last month. For the record, you didn’t count that.

And you didn't know where you were going. You didn't know what to wear. You didn't know anything, and he'd been decidedly close mouthed about the whole damn thing. 

"I don't know," you admitted. 

Maggie was silent on the other end.

"Mags? Look, don't freak. I asked. He said it was a surprise, and just casual clothes were fine. But like, he's a mechanic. Not trying to have my nose in the air or anything, but casual for him is probably jeans and t shirt, none of them with a label. Casual in the circles I've been dating in is- is a Donna Karan wrap dress and Louboutin's." 

Maggie scoffed. "Ok, that was a little snobby, but, like, fair. I'm gonna skip over the part where you don't know where you're going with a man who is a relative stranger, because I have not gotten the murder vibe from him. Then again, you don't have a great track record with mechanics. So, you don't want him to know you're loaded. But he's seen the Camaro, and I assume you paid for it with-" 

"I paid for the work with my debit card," you interrupted her. "I don't want him to know I'm loaded because I don't want to scare him off. I like him, Maggie. I haven't liked anyone in a long time. I didn't even like Philip at first; I just went out with him because Grandmother told me to." 

"I know, sweetie," Maggie said, tone soothing. "Fine. Hide the dough for now. If he said casual, I'd say pants. Jeans, with or without designer label but dark wash. Or, wait, no- that grey pair you have. You know, with the embroidery on the back pockets? Pair those with that black shirt that's silky and backless. Wear either something lacy under it or go braless, then grab-" 

"That suede jacket for after dark. Shit, Maggie, you're a genius," you declared, pulling items from your closet as she spoke. "Jewelry, bag?" 

"Delicate or none at all. I'd just tuck some cash and your id into your pocket; maybe your card too. Don't worry about a bag, since you don't know where you're goin'." 

"Ugh. I hate doing that. I'll take something small, though," you muttered. "Ok, I have to go. I don't want to be late. Wish me luck?" 

"Better. I wish you'll get lucky," she said, and hung up on you while you groaned. 

He leaned against a battered pickup when you pulled into the lot, and you blinked at him in surprise. You’d only ever seen him in coveralls and a layer of grease and dirt from working, and if you’d thought he was hot in those you feared he’d spontaneously combust- or maybe you would- in the battered leather jacket, black tee shirt, and jeans. He pushed off the car and headed toward you when you pulled into the lot, his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. 

If you had to guess, based off his body language, Daryl was just as nervous as you were. Somehow that made you instantly more relaxed, and you were smiling as you stepped from the Camaro, grabbing your purse and jacket as you did. 

He closed your car door for you and offered a slight smile. “Hey. Ya look amazin’.” 

He said it so simply and easily. It was the kind of sincere compliment you weren't used to anymore. Not when every one you usually got felt studied and practiced. It was damn nice. “Thanks. You don’t clean up too badly yourself,” you teased. “I like the jacket.” 

“It’s old as shit.” 

“I can tell. That’s what makes it awesome. New leather jackets are great too, but there’s something about one that’s been throughly broken in,” you said with a shrug. “They’re the best. So, are you going to tell me where we’re going now? Do have any idea how hard it is to dress for a date when you have no information? It almost required a committee.” 

His eyes flashed with amusement for a moment before he looked away from you. He gestured toward the truck and set his hand on your back gently to get you moving, and you wandered with him and blessed Maggie as a goddess for picking this shirt. His hand was warm and his fingertips rough on your bare skin in the best possible way, and you’d have shivered if you’d had a little less control. 

But it was a near thing. 

He tossed his head and chewed on his thumbnail as you walked toward the truck, suddenly seeming shy as hell, and you smiled when you realized he was blushing. 

“So, ah, we’re actually- we’re not goin’ anywhere. I mean, uh. Shit. Look, Y/N, I ain’t good at this shit,” he said abruptly, stopping and turning toward you. “It’s probably cheesy as all hell an’ if ya wanna do somethin’ different then it’s cool, but-“ 

He gestured vaguely toward the bed of the truck and you looked curiously. It was filled with pillows and cushions, two thick blankets folded and to one side, and a cooler nearby. You blinked and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Ok, I’m intrigued. What exactly did you have in mind?” 

He shuffled his feet and tossed hair from his eyes, not meeting yours. “Buddy of mine has this projector thing, and the bay doors are huge. I borrowed it from him, and- see movie theaters are so- I dunno ya can’t talk and shit and it’s so cliché, and-“ 

Oh my god, you thought, practically melting into a puddle of goo. He’d made your own personal drive in movie theater. Not only was he hot as hell, he was fucking adorable too. Damn it. 

You stepped closer to him and grabbed his hand. “I love it. What movie?”

His eyes shot to yours, surprised like when you’d touched his arm and told him you hadn’t said no to him calling you. You noticed the way he tensed up for a second at your touch, but then his fingers threaded through yours. He smiled at you and shrugged one shoulder. 

“Figured go with the classics. Ya choice- got a couple. Didn’t know what ya were into and didn’t wanna risk askin’ so I brought Casablanca, Dirty Dancing, an’ Star Wars.” 

You started laughing, because wow that was an array of choices. “All excellent options, and any would work. What’s your pick?”

“Oh hell naw. I asked you out; ya gotta pick one,” he shot back immediately. 

You groaned and pushed at his shoulder. “Damn it. Ummm… ok, fine. Bring on Swayze.” 

Daryl grinned at you. “I ain’t dancin’. Figure I better warn ya right now.” 

“Well, damn. Guess that’s it then, date ruined.” You smirked as he huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Still ain’t dancin’. Aight, go on and climb up if ya want. Got blankets and shit and some food. Lemme go fire it up.” He lingered for a minute, looking like he didn’t want to let go of your hand. “Ya really are pretty, ya know. Almost hate to keep ya here to myself, ya look so good. Anyway, I’ll be right back.” 

You blushed furiously and climbed into the bed of the truck when he jogged off. As you settled in against the mountain of cushions, you figured there was no way in hell this date could get any better. 

Turns out, you were wrong. 

Not only did he dance, you thought with a foolish smile on your face as you waved to the night doorman and headed for the elevator, he danced well. 

And he kissed even better. 

He’d kissed you the first time at the end of Dirty Dancing, after he’d spun you around to “Time of My Life” and you’d cracked a joke about Swayze needing to up his game to compete with Daryl Dixon. He’d rolled his eyes and blushed, and the next thing you knew his lips had been on yours and the world just- stopped. 

You’d suggested a double feature after that, and Star Wars was elected for obvious reasons. You’d spent half the movie making out, his hands gentle on your face and in your hair or trailing lightly down your back. 

You owed Maggie a fucking thank you card for recommending the backless shirt, holy shit. 

About the time you'd started to think maybe you'd take her advice on having sex with him after all, the Death Star had exploded, Luke and Han were given medals and hailed as heroes, and Daryl had pulled away with a reluctant sigh as the credits rolled. Brief disappointment faded quickly when he'd helped you out of the bed of the truck with his hands on your hips and shyly asked if he could see you again- soon. 

You'd given an enthusiastic yes and his eyes had lit up, and oh man were you done in. Another sweet kiss goodnight and he opened the Camaro's door for you, and you'd driven home in a giddy daze you couldn't seem to shake. 

It was hands down the best first date you'd ever been on. 

On the way to your floor, you pulled your phone from your pocket and snorted. Eleven messages and a missed call from Maggie. 

"Girl, you worry too damn much for someone who wanted me to get laid tonight," you muttered, and started scanning. 

The first few were what you'd expected: good luck, some lewd suggestions, and one reminder to use protection and text her when you got home. You rolled your eyes and kept scrolling and groaned. 

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," you muttered. You were practically at your floor, damn it. 

You opened the camera and turned it to check your hair and your makeup, grateful you hadn't worn lipstick because it would have been all over the place what with the making out. As it was, your hair looked better than it had any right to- Daryl knew what he was doing with his hands for more than just engines, that's for sure- and you smoothed the tangles out rapidly while muttering a string of profanity. 

You shot a message back to Maggie as the doors whooshed open and took a deep breath before stepping into the hallway.

You could do this. You hadn't done anything recently to make Grandmother angry, except the date tonight, and she had no way of knowing about that. Maggie was the only one who knew, and one of her frantic messages in all caps had declared her solemn vow that she hadn't breathed a word. You believed her. 

You still fought not to cringe as you let yourself into your apartment. 

"Young lady, where have you been?" 

You closed the door and hung your keys on the hook just inside, folding your jacket over your arm precisely. "I was out, Grandmother. Lovely to see you, and you're welcome any time, but I wish you'd called. I could have told you I wouldn't be home." 

Cynthia Elizabeth Carmichael, dowager queen of the Carmichael clan, rose from your armchair and looked down her nose at you in the way only your Grandmother could. Instantly, you felt your shoulders square and tighten, and you pulled your mother's dignity around you to meet her eyes steadily. 

This was your home. You were an adult, and there was nothing your Grandmother could do to you except guilt you about family and your duties to society as a whole and the Carmichael empire specifically. 

"I called when I arrived here and found no one home. You did not answer, so I contacted your farmer friend. She told me only that you were out and unavailable. Where were you?" 

You sighed and sat to take off the gladiator sandals you’d settled on after much debate. "Grandmother, I'm twenty nine years old. I don't have to report my comings and goings to you like a child." 

"Since your mother passed-" 

"Don't. I assume there is a reason for your visit, and that you stayed until-" you glanced at the clock and mentally winced "- two in the morning to see me?" 

Grandmother's lips pressed together in a thin line and you figured you'd be paying for that one. Oh well. 

"Indeed," she said grandly. "There's a board meeting at the shop tomorrow. As president, you are expected to attend." 

"As president, I am already aware," you said mildly, amused as ever by her referring to the largest diamond and jewelry store in the South as “the shop”. 

"And yet you're out until this ungodly hour doing who knows what! Partying, I assume." 

You sighed and rose. "Grandmother, please. I work hard at my job. What I do in my personal time is just that. Personal. If my performance as president is lacking, please feel free to bring it up to the board. Tomorrow during new business, if you'd like. Now, why are you here? It's not just to remind me of our regular monthly board meeting." 

She frowned, but nodded sharply. "Your performance has never been less than stellar at the shop. You're correct. I'm here because of this." 

You took the envelope she extended, sliding the invitation out curiously. You wished you could drop it and hiss like you'd been burned when you saw what it was. "Yes, I knew Philip and Andrea were engaged. I'm hardly surprised to see a wedding invitation, though I am surprised by their haste. And that they had the audacity to invite you." 

"Of course they invited me. They invited the whole family; they know they couldn't get away with leaving us off the list. They've also invited you. You will attend." 

"Oh, I will do no such thing," you informed her firmly, sliding the invitation back into the envelope and handing it to her. "Philip cheated on me, Grandmother. I will not go to his wedding to his mistress. I don't give a single solitary damn about society and propriety. I'm not angry at him anymore; we weren't a good fit anyway. But I will not go to that wedding and there is nothing you can do to make me." 

Her eyes narrowed in calculation. "Fine. Join the committee organizing the Atlanta Museum of Modern Art's fundraising gala and I'll make the appropriate excuses." 

Of course. She'd never expected you to attend Philip's wedding; she just wanted to be able to negotiate. "Grandmother, if you wanted me to join the committee, you should have asked. I'd be happy to. I love the Museum. Not only do I have a membership, but I actually use it. When is the first- or next, I suppose, since the gala’s in three months- meeting?" 

"Next Thursday, over lunch." Cynthia looked far too damn pleased with herself as she lifted her coat and headed for the door. "Do ring George at the door and have him instruct my driver to come round. I'll see you tomorrow, my dear." 

"See you tomorrow, Grandmother." 

She kissed your cheek and swept out, and damn it, you had to admire the woman's technique, you thought with a shake of your head as you went to buzz George. Familial obligations handled, you pulled out your phone on your way to your room. 

Maggie had already texted you in all caps, demanding to know everything.

"Hey, baby." 

You leaned back from your laptop, stretching for the first time in awhile, based on how your neck felt. A glance out the terrace doors showed a blazing sunset, and you winced. You'd only been planning to work for a little while, and you'd lost three hours to emails and last-minute nonsense for the gala this weekend. 

"Hey yourself," you greeted Daryl, lazy smile spreading over your lips at the sound of his voice. "You done for the night?" 

"Not yet. Gonna be a late one. Got a call a couple hours ago, some rich asshole crashed his daddy's Ferrari an' wants it fixed up by tomorrow. I figured we ain't doin' anything tonight, so why not? I can charge the shit out of ‘im for the rush.” 

Why not, indeed? You mused, even as 'rich asshole' made you shift uncomfortably. You wondered who it was. Probably Simon Hearst. He was an asshole, and reckless at that. 

"Yeah, sorry about tonight. I've got that family thing. I'm glad you called when you did; I was knee-deep in work and I need to start getting ready," you answered easily, hiding the guilt over 'that family thing' being a campaign dinner with the Governor and his wife. Your attendance had been made mandatory by Grandmother at the last family meeting, since both the Carmichael family personally (in the form of Grandmother) and Carmichael Diamonds were considering making campaign contributions. She'd also heavily hinted that you should bring a date, and you'd refused. 

It wasn't that you weren't planning on telling Daryl who your family was, and who you were. It was just that it had only been a few months, and- 

Well, you were afraid it would change things between you. It had any other time you'd dated outside the society set. Men who'd seemed nice and interested in you for you suddenly became all about who you could introduce them to, or couldn't handle that you were better off than them and turned petty and cruel until you broke it off. It was why you'd agreed to go out with Philip in the first place, when you'd broken up with the third boyfriend in as many months and Grandmother had suggested a nice young man she knew. 

Philip Blake had the pedigree Grandmother approved of, political leanings, and wasn't bad to look at. You'd been fed up with the whole dating scene and going through a battle of wills with her over your role in Carmichael Diamonds, your continued friendship post-college with Maggie (who as a farmer's daughter did not rank very highly on Grandmother's social ladder, despite the fact that while you’d been roommates Maggie had been welcomed into the family with open arms), and the trust fund being transferred solely to your control. It'd been easy to let Grandmother have her way, and the next thing you knew you'd been dating Philip long enough that he proposed and you said yes. 

Anyway, you liked Daryl. You liked him a lot, maybe even more than liked him, and you didn't want to mess things up by bringing up the money thing. You generally stayed out of the society spotlight, so he probably didn't relate Y/N Addison with the Carmichael Diamonds empire anyway. Your father's family wasn't quite as well off as your mother's, so his last name afforded you a bit of anonymity as long as you stayed mostly out of the papers. 

"Naw, it's all good. Family's important. Or I wouldn't keep this useless lump of ass I call a brother around," Daryl said, his voice rising on 'useless lump of ass' until you were grinning. 

"Tell Merle I said hey. He staying to help you with the Ferrari?" 

"Yeah, if ya can call it help. Mostly he's getting' on my nerves. Aight, damn it, I'm on the fuckin' phone!" 

You bit the inside of your lip as you heard Merle's voice yell something you didn’t quite catch. You couldn't believe it, but you liked Merle too. He was rough and crude and the antithesis of every person you usually dealt with, and he loved to make you blush. But you took what he dished out and returned it wholeheartedly, and that had gotten you his approval right off the bat- something you’d sensed you'd need. 

Daryl loved his brother unconditionally, for all they fought like cats and dogs. Merle was important to him, so you'd made the effort. Turns out, you liked the jerk. 

"Sorry, baby. Anyway, we on for tomorrow night? Just wanted to make sure." 

"Oh yeah. I'm looking forward to it. Where are you taking me again?" you asked innocently, hoping to slip one by him. He liked surprising you, often only giving you the barest information to go on when it came to dates. It provided a challenge in getting ready that he seemed to get a kick out of. 

"Nice try. Pants, boots, leather jacket. That's all the clues ya get," he shot back, and you heard the laughter in his voice. 

"Fine, fine! That's more specific than usually anyway," you grumbled, trying for irritated but failing because you were smiling so hard. "Fix your car. Throw something at your brother for me." 

"Gladly. Have fun with ya family." 

"Eh. I'll try," you said with a roll of your eyes. "No promises. See you tomorrow." 

"Bye, baby." 

He leaned in the saddle of the badass bike you'd first seen him ride in on, and you gulped. He shoved off the bike as you pulled in and headed toward you, opening your door with a smirk already on his lips that you found both incredibly hot and incredibly worrisome. 

“Hey,” you said, sliding out and fighting a smile when he caged you in the open door. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed. “Might be. Bout to get better.” 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

He ran his fingertips down your neck and leaned in for a kiss, pressing you back into the Camaro as you laughed against his lips. He tasted vaguely like cigarettes and spearmint gum, with that extra Daryl edge that had you craving more the moment his mouth left yours. 

“Hey,” he muttered when he broke the kiss. “How was ya day?”

You leaned your forehead to his with a sigh. “Long. Family thing last night ran late. Meetings all day today. At least the rocks are shiny and pretty. Helped someone pick out an engagement ring for her girlfriend today- three carats, solitaire, princess cut in rose gold. So that was fun. What about you? Fix any engines? Change any oil? Throw any wrenches at Merle?”

“That was one time, an’ he deserved it.” 

“Never said he didn’t,” you agreed cheerfully. “Did he deserve it today?”

Daryl smiled at you and backed up, closing your car door and keeping your hand firmly in his. “Naw, he did good work today, and helped me last night. Aight, ya proved ya point. Gonna ask now?”

“Nope,” you declared. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. Or not.” 

He laughed and grabbed a helmet from behind the bike. “Wanna ride?”

Shit, you thought, cheeks flaming red as you remembered your first sight of him. You took the helmet from his hands and plopped it onto your head. “Hell yes.”

“That’s my girl.” 

The engine thrummed under you and you cling to Daryl, pressed close as he took another curve at speeds that had you squeezing your eyes closed and laughing out loud. Cool, rushing air made you glad you’d listened to his directions on what to wear. He rocketed out of Atlanta and into the ass end of nowhere as night fell, and you could have ridden with him to the ends of the earth for all you cared. When he finally stopped, you had no idea where you were and you were fine with it. 

He set the kickstand and turned on the seat to face you, pulling off his helmet as you fumbled yours off too. His eyes were cautious, like he was waiting to see your reaction, and you tossed the helmet aside with a thunk to slide down into the saddle with him. You grabbed his battered jacket with both hands and pulled him to you, kissing him hot and hard and exhilarated. 

“Oh my god,” you declared with a laugh. “Oh my god, Daryl!” 

“Ya like the bike then?” He asked. You kissed him again, a quick smack because you were so delighted by his almost shy tone. ”I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Shit. Yes. That was… incredible! Do you feel like this all the time? God, I feel like I’m flying, still.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Naw. Not anymore. When I started to ride, yeah. Now it’s kinda routine.”

“Nope. I don’t believe you.” You eased back, hands on his shoulders, to look up at the endless stars wheeling overhead. “Nothing routine about that. That’s pure magic. It’s beautiful out here. Hey, where are we?” 

Daryl pulled you back upright with a snort. “Nowhere, really. Merle and I hunt out here sometime. Figured the road was a good one for a first ride, is all.”

“So it’s- I don’t know, fairly deserted?” 

He eyed you and shrugged. “Yeah. Why?” 

Instead of answering, you slid your hands down his chest to grip his shirt at his sides and kissed him again. His hands tangled in your hair as he kissed you back, and you tugged his shirt up until you could get your hands under it and onto his skin. 

"Slow down, baby. Didn't bring ya out here for this," Daryl told you, so serious like he was afraid you might think he had. 

You half-laughed and rolled your eyes. "Think I don't know that? Of course you didn't. But holy shit, Dixon, I'm flying. And I want your hands on me. Now." 

He stared into your eyes for a minute before his went dark and he hauled you even closer to him on the seat. He shoved at your jacket, pushing it off your shoulders and tossing it to the ground, and you laughed for real at the sudden shift to urgency. 

You got it. Oh, damn, did you get it. 

You hadn't slept with him on the first date. Or the second. The third, you'd been informed by Maggie, you were fucking seducing him. Amazingly enough, you had. 

You’d fucked him the first time in the backseat of his truck. Then he’d shyly taken you back to his place, and you’d done it a few more times before morning light came and found you in his kitchen with a coffee cup and wearing his flannel shirt, sitting on the counter while he fumbled his way through breakfast. Then Merle came in. 

Now that had been an experience. You'd turned seven shades of purple before you realized it was just Merle's way of bonding with you both and you'd started dishing it back at him. 

It was like this every time you had sex though- Daryl shy and almost hesitant until it was clear where you were headed. Then he took charge and took over and holy shit was he good at it. 

Your jacket on the ground, Daryl pulled at your tank top until it was up and over your head, wasting no time. He bit lightly down your neck and along your shoulder and you groaned as his hands traveled over your back and sides. The rough texture of the calluses on his palms had you shivering, at odds with the way he barely skimmed his fingers over your skin. 

You wanted more. You needed more. He huffed a protest, his tongue dipping just under the edge of your bra, when you forced his own jacket off and he had to stop touching you to get his arms free. 

Then he scowled and tossed hair from his eyes, grabbing his shirt and jerking it off himself before you could insist. You smiled at him lazily and ran both hands down his arms, digging your nails in enough to get him to growl and pin you with that heat-filled look. 

He had a handful of your hair in a flash and pulled until your head tipped back and you gasped, and he wrapped his other hand around your throat and barely squeezed. He didn’t say a word, staring at you with narrowed eyes until your lips parted and you got a handful of his hair yourself. Then he leaned in and took your mouth with his, hard and hot, and you bit down on his lip as you gave as good as you got. 

Your hands cruised over his chest and stomach, fingers exploring every well-defined muscle before you reached for the button on his jeans. 

Daryl popped the clasp on your bra and slid both hands up under it to cup your breasts and rub his rough, magical thumbs across your already- aching nipples. You moaned his name when he sucked one into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the hard peak until you shuddered. 

That was it. You couldn’t wait any longer, not after that machine between your legs the whole way here and Daryl’s eyes staring into yours and his hands on you. 

You popped the button and tugged the zipper down on his jeans, and Daryl leaned back and stared at you as you pulled him free and ran your fingertips up the length of him. You circled his head with your thumb, lingering on the spot on the underside that had him grabbing at your hand and wrapping it firmly around him as his hips jerked forward into your hand. You caught your lip between your teeth, his eyes holding yours intensely as he moved your hand over him. You tightened your grip slightly and his eyes flickered closed as his breath caught.

You swung off the bike with a lingering kiss, drawing your hand from under his until he watched you with narrowed eyes, continuing to stroke himself. You slid slowly out of your jeans and underwear and tossed your bra away as well, trying not to blush under Daryl’s steady gaze. 

When you were naked in the cool air, he reached for you, fingers threading into your hair as you straddled the bike again. His tongue moved against yours, that spearmint and cigarette taste like gasoline on a fire. He leaned his forehead to yours when you drew your fingertips along his dick again, eyes closed and his hand in your hair clenched into a fist.

“Lemme- I dunno, get our jackets or somethin’,” Daryl said, voice rough. “Lay ‘em out.”

“Nope. Right here. On the bike.” 

“Shit, baby.” He shot you a look partly amused and a hell of a lot aroused. “That ain’t gonna be easy.” 

You shrugged and ran both hands up his arms, shooting him a flirtatious look and fluttering your eyelashes. “We’ll figure it out. Come on, I wanna ride.” 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Get up here, then.” 

You smirked and obliged, Daryl’s hands on your hips to steady you as did. He was right; it wasn’t easy. But fucking hell, was it worth it. 

He was bigger than Philip, and the first time you’d had some trouble with that, especially since it had been awhile since you’d had sex. Now, you took it slow, Daryl practically holding you up at one point until you settled into his lap, him filling you up almost to the point of discomfort. 

Almost. 

It was an awkward angle, since he had his legs braced to hold you and the bike steady, but he leaned back some and you leaned onto the handlebars of the bike. His hands cruised over your ass, up your back, down the sides of your breasts, as he waited for you to figure it out from there. 

Your lip caught between your teeth as you shifted slightly, and then you got it. You rocked your hips against him and his grip on your sides tightened abruptly, his body jerking forward to meet you. 

The sound you made you probably wouldn’t be proud of tomorrow, but right now, you didn’t give a shit. Your eyes closed and you rolled your hips again, and again, and again, that wild, aching need that had been building in you since he’d kicked the bike to life and shouted “hang on to me” over his shoulder leaping and snarling and climbing higher and higher. 

Daryl gripped your hips to help you along, using those damn incredible arms, his fingers digging in and his mouth against your skin wherever he could reach as he pressed light kisses or bit down on you with each thrust. Both of you were panting and desperate, and he moved slightly- slid forward just a fraction, and suddenly your clit was rubbing perfectly against his abdomen with every move you made. 

In moments you were half-yelling, half-sobbing his name as you came hard. He growled out a response, wrapped his arms around you, and rose, stepping off the bike without once pulling out of you. He kicked at something on the ground, then lowered you down and mumbled into your neck, but you were too busy flying to understand him. 

He braced himself and tangled one hand in your hair, giving you that smoldering, possessive look. “My turn, baby.” 

“Oh God,” you moaned as he pulled your leg up to wrap around his hip and thrust into you hard and fast.

“Naw, but ya gonna be callin’ me one,” he fired back, and it was so unlike him you started laughing. 

He grinned and pulled almost completely out, and your eyes went wide. He tugged on your hair and pressed his lips to yours, and-

Well, and then he fucked you. Fast and hard and furious, he took you up and sent another orgasm ripping through you when you honestly hadn’t thought it possible after the first one. Moments after, he grunted against your neck and pulled out quickly, shifting to the side and wrapping a hand around himself. He jerked twice and came hard, and it suddenly hit you that you’d just fucked him without even thinking about a condom. 

“Holy shit,” you muttered, eyes wide as he looked down at you, a question in his. “That damn bike is dangerous, Dixon.” 

He laughed and rolled his eyes, flopping down into his back on the ground. You curled against him and he held you close, running his fingers lightly over your arm. “Yeah. Not the way most people mean when they say that.”

“I should hope not,” you agreed dryly. “So. Where the hell are we again?” 

Stars wheeled overhead, far brighter and far more of them than you’d ever seen in the city, and Daryl pointed out constellations and planets and all kinds of things as you lay on the ground in the dark and talked. 

The sun was just coming up when you made it back to the garage and kissed him goodbye. 

"Hey, Merle," you called, waving as you climbed out of the Camaro. He straightened up from the hood of something large, black, and with rims that didn't fit the wheel or the lines of the vehicle, but what did you know? 

You frowned when he glared at you, his arms crossed over his chest instead of his usual smirk, mildly insulting commentary on your appearance, and wink. "What's wrong?" 

"I dunno, sugar tits. Got somethin' ya wanna tell us, Miss Addison?" he asked, and you slid your sunglasses off your face slowly, hooking them through your shirt and meeting his eyes. 

"What's going on?" You made your tone firm and brisk, despite the way your heart was pounding and your stomach felt like lead. 

Merle scoffed. "Shoulda known. Ya do that high falutin' thing real well, but shit. Ya seemed happy enough to hang out with my lil brother. Shoulda known ya was just slummin'." 

"That's insulting to both him and me, Merle. You want to use your big boy words and tell me what it is you think I've done, or are we just going to stand out here trading cryptic insults for awhile?" You'd drawn your mother's dignity around you like a shield, because you knew full well what this was, and it hurt, damn it. It hurt. This was why you'd hidden the money in the first place. 

Merle laughed, and it was harsh and cruel enough it might have made you flinch if you weren't on guard already. "Oh, I usually enjoy that fuck-you tone, miss, but not when someone's been playin' with my baby brother's heartstrings. Ya know exactly what I'm talkin' about, don't ya?" 

"I haven't been playing with anyone," you said coldly. "And I would love to know what you're talking about. Better yet, I'd like to discuss whatever it is with Daryl himself, since it's him I have a relationship with." 

"Now listen here, ya snobby society bitch-" 

"Merle!" Daryl's voice cut across his brother's harsh snarl, cold and pissed as hell, and your mouth snapped shut around the venom you'd been about to spew at Merle. 

How the hell did they find out? You wondered in the back of your mind. Daryl strode from the bay, coveralls hooked around his hips so his grease-smeared arms and dirty white tank were visible. He barely looked at you, but when he did, the intensity you normally found in his eyes was missing. They were as blank and cool as your fuck off voice, and your stomach flipped. 

You'd really fucked it up, hadn't you? Goddamn it. 

"What the hell have I told ya about customer service?" Daryl said to Merle, and you did flinch at that. 

"So I'm back to being a customer now? Would one of you two asshats like to tell me just what it is that I've done? Cause last night, I sure wasn't a customer." Guilt and hurt made you bitchy as hell and always had, and you saw that one hit home when Daryl's shoulders jerked. 

"Last night I didn't know ya was just havin' a laugh with the redneck," Daryl shot back at you. "Ya rich brat friends enjoy hearin' about it? Entertain everyone over fuckin' high tea or whatever?" 

You bit the inside of your lip as your spine snapped straight and hard. "Don't. You can insult me all you want, but don't presume you know shit about my friends." 

"I don't 'presume' nothin', Y/N. Ya can take that lady of the fuckin' plantation tone and shove it up your ass." 

You scoffed and crossed your arms, picking at chip in your nail polish absently as you wished you'd left the shades on. "So, how'd you find out anyway? Google me? Swing by the shop?" 

"Fuckin' picture in the paper. With the governor and some rich broad at some campaign dinner night before last. Thought ya had a family thing," he said after a pause, and you caught a glimpse of hurt under all that anger that twisted the guilt in deeper. 

You took a half step forward and he jerked back, looking away from you. "I did have a family thing. The rich broad is my grandmother, who commanded me to make an appearance. As president of Carmichael Diamonds, so I could make a campaign contribution from the company books. By the way, I refused to do so. It doesn't make sense to get the company involved when Grandmother's personal donation hit the maximum and I don't necessarily agree with the governor's political agenda." 

And oh, what a row that had been, you thought as your teeth ground together. You'd probably have to bring a date to the damn ball to make up for it. Which wasn't looking like it would be a problem, considering the way Merle was pretending to work on the massive vehicle while listening in with a glare and the way Daryl looked ready to rip you apart with his bare hands, and not in the fun way. 

His shoulder jerked now as he gestured impatiently. "Think I give a shit about ya politics or donations? Ya lied to me." 

"No, I didn't," you said calmly. "I never lied." 

"Ya said ya worked at a jewelry store." 

"I do." 

"Ya fuckin' own the place!" he half-yelled. "That ain't workin' there!" 

You shrugged. "I don't own it. I own a majority shareholder's stake in it, and I'm president of the company and director of operations at our Atlanta flagship store. I do work there. Long hours, nearly every day of the week. If you come in and ask for me, you'll be taken to the penthouse office, not the sales floor like you assumed, but I do work there." 

"I wouldn't fuckin' get up there to see ya if I tried to walk in off the street. Security would fuckin' escort me out. Ya said ya apartment was too far away to make me pickin' ya up worth it," he tossed out, tone low and dangerous. 

"It is. It's on the far side of town. The shop is closer to here than my apartment is; so most of the time I'm seeing you I leave straight from work. And by the way, you're on the short list of people who can come see me at any time. I gave my secretary, my floor manager, and security your name and told them to let you up if you ever came by. Daryl, I wasn't lying to you. I just hadn't told you the whole truth. Not yet." 

"Why the fuck not?" he demanded, and that- well, that was a fair question. 

You pressed your lips together and sighed, reaching up and smoothing your hair as you tried to figure out how to answer. 

"'Cause we're white trash, little bro, and she's just slummin' it," Merle put in. 

"Oh, shut the fuck up, asshole," you snapped at him, glaring. "You and your brother own a business. You're not Carmichael Diamonds rich, but frankly, who is? This place is successful in its own right and Daryl's restorations are sought after. I have several acquaintances who have cars he's worked on, and I've given his card to a few more. By the way, Dixon, expect some calls. Neither of you are 'white trash', but you know what? I wouldn't fucking care if you were. I'm not 'slumming' with your brother." 

"Then what the hell are ya doin'? And why didn't ya mention that you're fuckin' loaded?" 

You turned back to Daryl at his quiet questions, hearing the hurt beneath the words that called to you the way Merle's angry accusations didn't. You met Daryl's guarded eyes and tried to figure out how to say what you needed to, to make him understand. 

"Philip was rich. Not as rich as me, but rich. My grandmother set us up, and I honestly didn't even like him that much. But I was so tired, you see. I'd broken up with three men in three months, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. I haven't-" you broke off and started to pace a little, a habit you'd picked up from Daryl. "I haven't had much luck dating. Either I meet someone I like, we hit it off, and things turn sour when they find out I'm loaded, as you put it, or I date society boys who are loaded like I am. But most of the time, they're just looking for a quick lay and to move on, or are looking to ally their family money with mine and get an in on the Carmichael Diamond empire. Score the princess, see, and eventually you'll get to be king." 

"Poor lil rich girl-" Merle sneered.

"Shut the hell up or go inside," Daryl snapped, his eyes not leaving you. 

You lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Money's great. I have a terrace. A doorman at my building who knows my name and wears a gun. I have my dream car. I could jet around the world and never work a day in my life and still live the same lifestyle I do now when I'm eighty-three and it would barely make a dent in my trust fund. I'm rich as fuck, Daryl, and I won't pretend it doesn't have it's advantages." 

Merle snorted but didn't say anything, so you kept going. 

"Thing is, though, most men? That intimidates them. Or that's all they want, is my money. When they find out, men who were once interested in hearing my thoughts and opinions either only want me to introduce them to my family or turn vicious and mean. I think it makes them feel inferior, knowing their girlfriend could buy not only their house but the bank that holds their mortgage without breaking a sweat. They try to protect their fragile masculinity by asserting their dominance in unsavory ways. I've been called a lot worse than a snobby society bitch. Some try to belittle me, some try to compete with me, a few have tried to smack me around to feel better. To feel powerful, and in control."

Daryl's lip curled, his hand clenching into a fist, and you smiled at him absently. 

"I didn't say they succeeded. They tried. But don't you see; it's always the same. No one ever likes me for me, once they find out about the money. I showed up here and made a damn fool of myself, and you- you asked if you could call me. That's it, just if you could call me sometime. Here I was, so damn attracted to you I turned into a blushing idiot, and-" you shrugged helplessly. "Daryl, I like you. I like you a lot. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to lose you." 

"Were ya goin' to?" he asked softly. "Or were ya just waitin' for something like this?" 

"I was going to. It's only been a few months. It was too soon. And my grandmother- shit. If the money alone doesn't scare you off, Cynthia Elizabeth Carmichael will."  
"I ain't scared of nothin'." 

You grinned at that. "Oh, you'd be scared of her. She's formidable." 

He chewed on his thumbnail absently, eyes on the ground. "I don't care about money." 

"I know," you said softly. "But I care. I care about knowing someone likes me for me, not just for my money." 

"I get that. 'Specially with what ya talkin' about other guys doin'. Look, I cain't- I'm pissed, but like- Shit. I gotta go think, aight? I'll call ya later," he said finally, meeting your eyes. 

You swallowed hard, nodding, and his shoulders jerked again before he turned and strode back into the bay. You closed your eyes and took a shaky breath, trying to hold in the tears that wanted to fall. 

"Shit, girl. Ya fucked it up good, but ya clawed ya way back out again, didn't ya?" Merle said dryly. 

You opened your eyes and shot him a glare, only to lose the battle against the tears when he winked at you. "God. I'm sorry. I swear to God, I didn't want to hurt him. I wasn't- I'm not- I like you both. I'm not slumming, damn it. That implies I think you're less than me. That he's less. And he's not, Merle." 

"Shut up. I got eyes and I got ears. I done figured that out. But my lil brother, he thinks ya hid it 'cause ya ashamed of him. That's what ya gonna have to prove wrong, girlie. Now get outta here and give that a good think. Don't cry and drive now, or ya won't make it back to ya terrace." 

You swiped a hand over your eyes, no doubt smearing your makeup all over the place, and sniffed. "Thanks. You're still an asshole." 

"Hell, sugar tits, I know that." 

“Mags, how do I fix it?” You swirled your third glass and wished your damn work ethic would let you call in sick the next day. You wanted something a hell of a lot harder than red wine. 

Maggie sighed. “Honey, I told you not to hide it. I know, I know. But the thing is, he didn’t hear it from you. So now he thinks you think he’s not good enough for your world.” 

You groaned and knocked back the wine like it was a shot of Patron. You reached for the bottle and poured again, gesturing with it while you talked. “I know! I get it. I see the problem. So how do I fix it?” 

“How much do you like him?” 

You set the bottle down with a thump and sipped from your glass to give yourself time to think. Maggie always asked the hard questions, damn it. She had since you’d first dumped your Louis Vuitton luggage on the dorm bed and introduced yourself and she’d bluntly demanded to know just how much of the college your family owned. 

The answer was none, but you had an uncle on the admissions board and a third cousin in the finance department. 

“I like him a lot. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. He treats me- shit, Maggie, he treats me like a person. He thinks I’m smart and funny and sexy and capable, and he likes my opinions and my ideas. And I like his and I think he might just be the most- the most real person I’ve ever met. He’s so honest and upfront about who he is and what his world is, it’s amazing. And he trusts me- well, trusted me- enough to talk about his scars and how he got them, and that’s…” you trailed off as your eyes burned. “That’s more trust than I’ve ever been given. And I fucked it up by not returning the favor.” 

Maggie leaned forward and took your hand. “If you want to fix this, you have to let him into your world. Bring him to the gala this weekend. Let him meet Cynthia.” 

“Straight into the vipers nest? That’s a good way to tell someone you care. ‘Here, I’ll feed you to the wolves. I like you; do you like me?’” 

“Shut up and listen,” Maggie said absently. “He thinks you’re ashamed of him. Show him you’re not. Prove it’s the other way around. That’s the only way.” 

You sighed and pressed your lips together, staring into your wine. “And if that makes him leave? If he can’t handle it or he hates it?” 

“Then you know. And you’ll call me and we’ll get drunk and fly to Tahiti for a week.” 

You laughed and swiped at the tears on your cheeks. “You’re a good friend, Mags.” 

“I know.” 

You fiddled with one of your earrings, dangling silver chandelier monstrosities covered in rubies that made your ears ache after two minutes but absolutely stunned when you pulled your hair up. You’d gone simple with your dress, so when Grandmother swept in to approve your attire you’d let her chose your accessories. She’d picked out the rubies, as you’d known she would, and once again asked if you were sure about the off-the-shoulder Vera Wang column dress in classic black. Didn’t you want something with some more interest? There were going to be photographers, you know. 

Yes, you did know, since you’d arranged the whole thing, Grandmother. Your jaw tightened and your forced yourself to breathe deeply. It was one evening. It would be ok. 

Probably. 

Jesus, Daryl needed to get here. Then again, that would make things worse in a lot of ways. He’d been quietly pleased when you’d shown up at the garage the day after the fight, mildly hungover and holding an invitation to the gala clenched nervously in your hand. 

But now he was coming. He’d meet your grandmother. And all your society friends. And they’d talk shit about him. And Philip and Andrea might put in an appearance. 

God, maybe this wasn’t such a good-

“Shit,” you breathed, mouth dropping open when he parked the bike and pulled his helmet off. Never mind, this was the best idea you’d ever had. 

The man looked damn good in a tux. 

He paused when he caught sight of you, his eyes raking down your body and lingering on the glittering stones swinging by your jawline. You smiled and raised an eyebrow, and he smiled back, picking at his fingernail as he made his way to you. 

"Hey," he said quietly, blocking out the noise of the crowd as he studied you. Cameras flashed, people called greetings, and valets tossed keys and started engines, but Daryl Dixon stared straight at you like no one else was around. 

It was enough to make a girl weak in the damn knees. 

"Hey yourself. You clean up damn good, Dixon," you said, reaching for his hand. 

He shrugged, a blush rising on his cheeks as he glanced away for the first time. "So, am I allowed to kiss ya at this thing, or is that, like, against the rules?" 

You grabbed his lapel and pressed in close, your other hand circling to the back of his neck. "You fucking better. It's a gala, not a funeral." 

He snorted lightly, but he brushed his lips to yours, soft and sweet as his arm came around your waist and pulled you close. You leaned into him with a sigh, smoothing his jacket and laying your palm flat against his chest as you caught him in a deeper kiss. 

Fuck everyone and everything. It wasn't their opinions you were worried about; it was his. You hadn't hidden him from your world, you'd hidden your world from him. You felt the moment his hesitation eased, when he angled his head and really got into the kiss as well. 

Someone cleared their throat nearby. "Excuse me, Miss Addison? You're needed for the photographers. The welcome speech is set to begin in five minutes and the papers wanted a photo and a quick word." 

You stepped back from Daryl with a roll of your eyes. "Duty calls, babe. Come with me. Oh, meet Everly Van Doren, the museum's curator. Everly, this Daryl Dixon. My boyfriend." 

"Oh! This is Daryl! Wow, you weren't lying, were you? He is hot," Everly blurted, then blushed furiously. 

Daryl did too, even as you laughed. "I don't lie, you know that. Take it as a compliment, Daryl. Come on, let's get the circus part over with so we can get to the drinking and the dancing." 

"Right this way. I'm so sorry; I usually have some tact. It's an insane night for us. That's my only excuse. But it's very nice to finally meet you," Everly told Daryl, still blushing as she led the two of you toward the doors. 

You tucked your hand in Daryl's arm and smiled up at him. "Scared yet?" 

"I ain't afraid of nothin', baby," he said dryly, but his eyes were cautious as he took in the people and the decked out museum. Nerves that had settled down at his arrival sprang back up, and you bit your lip and drew your mother's dignity to you, smoothing a hand over your hair as you kissed his cheek and stepped to Everly's side to address the press and pose for pictures. 

He was waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a slight smile on his lips, when you were done. 

"So, this is, what? A fundraiser?" he asked softly about two hours later. 

You nodded, doing the shuffle-sway slow dance typical at events like this and high school proms everywhere. Just because people had money didn't mean they could dance, though the society set was better at it than your average high school student. Probably all the ballroom dance lessons growing up. The live band was doing well and the floor was packed, and for two hours you'd successfully managed to avoid Cynthia Carmichael. That run was doomed to come to an end soon, you knew, so you were enjoying dancing with Daryl while you could. It was easy with his hand was warm in yours and the way he made the shuffle-sway look damn good. 

"Yeah, it's an annual thing. The Museum goes all out, and the silent auction rakes in big dough. Then there's the ticket cost, the membership renewals, and everyone outdoing themselves to donate the highest amount. The Museum does good work supporting local artists, so it's worth it. Carmichael Diamonds is a major contributor, and so am I personally." 

He was watching the crowd as he nodded. "Ticket prob'ly costs more'n my garage." 

"Does that bother you?" you asked, hearing the way your tone had cooled and hating it. 

Daryl looked back into your eyes and tossed his head, shoulder jerking in a shrug. "When it comes to you? Naw. Don't give a shit. Just don't have a lot I can make small talk about here, is all. Don't exactly run in the same circles." 

"You talk to me," you disagreed. 

"You're different." 

"How?" You met his eyes seriously, stopping your motion in the middle of the dance floor but not dropping your arms. "Why am I so different?" 

"Ya ain't a snobby bitch, for one," he said easily, eyes dancing. 

You rolled your own and let him pull you back into motion. "They're not all that bad, Daryl." 

"Naw, not all of 'em. But enough," he disagreed. "Hey, that asshole looks familiar." 

"Hmmm?" you followed his gaze and mentally groaned. "God. Simon Hearst. I should have known. Hello, Simon. How's your mother doing? Is she here this evening?" 

"YN! Lovely to see you. Unfortunately, no. She wasn't feeling well and had to miss. Father's here, though. I know you," Simon declared, his eyes on Daryl even as he kissed your cheek perfunctorily. He sipped from the glass in his hand, probably whiskey or bourbon knowing Simon, and looked considering. 

"Simon, meet-" 

"The garage! The mechanic! You fixed my Ferrari better than new!" Simon pointed dramatically at Daryl and you gestured as he reached out a hand to pump Daryl's enthusiastically. 

"I guess I don't need to introduce you. Daryl, this is Simon Hearst," you said anyway, politeness and training taking over. 

Daryl nodded, reclaiming his hand from Simon's grip. "Yeah, man. Hey. Car still runnin' good?" 

"That baby purrs like a kitten! What the hell are you doing at something like this, man? Hey, Jamison! Come here, this is the guy who put the Ferrari back together overnight. Dixon, right?" Simon clapped Daryl on the back as he half-yelled toward one of his friends and you stifled another groan. 

Jamison Pruitt was even more of a tool than Simon, and clearly a few more drinks in as he staggered over and draped an arm around your shoulders. "YN! Great little party you've got here, honey. Haven't seen you around the dating scene much since Philip- oh shit. Probably shouldn't mention that to you, huh? What with the wedding and all. Who are you?"  
"Jamison, this is Daryl. Daryl, Jamison Pruitt," you ground out, ducking out from under Jamison's arm. 

"Dixon here fixed up Dad's Ferrari after I had that incident earlier this week," Simon repeated. "He's a top notch mechanic, Jami. If you fuck up any of your toys, you should look him up. Got a card, man? How do you know our girl here, anyway? You're always bringing local artists and entrepreneurs in for events like this, to give them publicity. Did you fix her Camaro after Billings got busted?" Simon sipped and nudged your shoulder as Jami laughed. 

"Matter of fact, yeah, she brought the Camaro in," Daryl said slowly, his eyes narrowing between the two drunk assholes you'd gone to high school with and you. You rolled your eyes and mouthed an apology, but this was what you'd been afraid of. That overly cautious look on his face, the tightness in his shoulders. 

"So, you invite him to make some connections, honey? There more tradespeople wandering around we need to be aware of?" Jami asked. "I know you're all bummed out over Philip and his new no-name side piece, but you really should have just made him pay by banging one of us for awhile and marrying him anyway. Then scalp him in the divorce in a couple years; not that you need it. Seriously, dude, got a card? Cause I've got this Mustang, see, and I wanna make it a road racer, and-" 

"Jamison Pruitt, kindly take a one-way ticket to hell," you said, your best fuck-you tone in place. "No, Daryl doesn't have a card. And I never have nor will I ever bang one of you, Philip or no Philip. Andrea's a lovely woman and I wish them all the best. I'm quite happy with my current choice of partner, thank you, one I neither have to lie to nor plan to 'scalp' at any point in time." 

"Aw, shit, Jami, she pulled out the Carmichael Heiress tone on you. Better watch out. So, who's the lucky man?" Simon wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively and you stared at him. 

"How dense- or drunk- are you two?" you asked, incredulous. "Daryl isn't here to make connections or drum up business. He's my date. He's my boyfriend. Christ almighty." 

Daryl shot you a look, his eyes dancing, as Jami and Simon exchanged a far less amused one of their own. You slipped your hand into Daryl's and he squeezed, and you hoped like hell he was as unoffended by them as he seemed to be. 

"God, YN. I'm sure he's good with his hands, but he's a mechanic," Jamison said, and your hand clenched into a fist as you rounded on him. 

"Who is a mechanic?" 

You instantly smoothed out your hand and plastered a smile on your face, turning toward the voice. "Grandmother. Jamison and Simon were just discussing my boyfriend, Daryl. Daryl, meet my grandmother, Cynthia Carmichael. Grandmother, my boyfriend Daryl Dixon." 

Daryl held out a hand after giving you a wild look. "Ma'am. Nice to meet ya." 

You froze as your grandmother looked down her nose at Daryl's offered hand and turned to you, disapproval etched into her face. "YN, I need to speak with you. In private."

“No,” you said coolly, more than done with this evening already after Simon and Jamison's dipshit performances. You were in no mood to tolerate another person putting down Daryl, even if that person was your grandmother. “I’m trying to enjoy the event I spent considerable time and effort planning with my boyfriend, and between you refusing to acknowledge his existence and these two assholes being the worst examples that society has to offer, I’m finding it very difficult. So, either apologize to Daryl and have a chat with us or you and I can have this conversation at a later date.”

“Baby, it’s aight,” Daryl said softly, his hand on your back. 

“It most certainly is not alright, young man. My granddaughter is forgetting her place and I will not stand for it. And you have no place here,” Grandmother added with a sneer. 

Your spine snapped straight and hard. “Excuse you? He’s my date, for one, and for two-“

“Naw, she’s right, YN.” 

You spun on your heel and stared at him, heart in your throat, and realized there was a crowd watching and listening. Daryl knew too, by the way his shoulders were hunched and his hands shoved in his pockets. “Bullshit.” 

“YN!”

“Not now, Grandmother,” you snapped, taking a step closer to Daryl. “You belong here if you want to be here. I want you here. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “For me. But not for them. Ya got stuff to deal with right now, baby, and this ain’t the time and place. I’ll call ya, aight?”

“Daryl!” You called helplessly as he turned and started for the door. Tears sprang into your eyes and you sniffed them back. “Damn it.”

“Now that you're finished with this scene, can we speak in private?” Grandmother declared, voice frosty. 

You shook your head, eyes closed and back to her as you drew in a deep breath. Seriously? Did she really think you were going anywhere but after Daryl right now? 

“Miss Addison? The silent auction is about to conclude, and we need you to announce the winners,” Everly’s calm voice cut the heavy silence that had fallen in your small knot of people. 

You opened your eyes and smoothed a hand over your hair, your mother’s dignity drawn close like a shield. This was a good place, and you had worked hard on the gala. You had duties here, to the Museum of Modern Art, and it and Everly deserved your attention. You’d take care of this last thing, then you’d go after Daryl. 

Cynthia Elizabeth Carmichael could go straight to hell. 

“Yes, is course. I’m right behind you,” you said easily, and shot the boys a disgusted look as you brushed past them. They at least had the grace to look ashamed, while your grandmother simply looked furious. 

“So that looked fun,” Everly commented in a low voice. “You’re going after him, right?” 

“Just as soon as I step back off the stage,” you agreed, bright smile in place as you waved at guests and exchanged air kisses in passing. “Let’s make this snappy, shall we?”

The lights were on in the garage, but the massive bay doors were closed. Hard, driving rock blasted from the speakers and you winced. 

You knocked, but there was no way in hell he was going to hear it over that so you let yourself in. Skirt gathered in your hand, you picked you way toward the back and Daryl’s current restoration project. Jimmy Choos were not exactly ideal for the garage, you thought as you side stepped spilled oil and almost tripped on a wrench. Especially not when Merle had been left to close up for the day. 

Daryl bent over the engine, his tux jacket tossed into the front seat of the convertible and his coveralls pulled on over the partly unbuttoned tux. He had grease on his hands again, and you started to smile before you remembered he was probably pissed as hell at you. 

You leaned on the side of the car and he didn't look at you. “You’re gonna get grease on that tux.”

“It’s a rental anyway,” he muttered, barely audible over the music. 

You sighed and stepped to the workbench, grabbing the remote and turning the volume down so you could maybe hear each other without screaming. “You’re not getting your deposit back then.” 

“Won’t be the first time.” 

Behind his back, since he didn’t stop doing whatever the hell he was doing, you closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath for patience. You walked back around to lean on the car again where you could see his face, and this time his eyes flicked up to yours. He had a cigarette stuffed behind his ear and you wondered how many he’d already been through. 

“Simon Hearst and Jamison Pruitt are absolute assholes and I’d like it on record that I have never slept with either of them,” you said firmly.

His lips almost twitched. “Think it’s those two I’m worried about? Hearst was a dick when he brought his daddy’s car in. Ain’t nothin’. Just cain’t believe they talk to you like that too.” 

“Well, we went to high school together. And they were drunk,” you mumbled. “Daryl.”

“Baby,” he countered, finally putting down his tool and straightening up, wiping his hands on the rag nearby. He met your eyes steadily this time and you studied him. “I ain’t pissed. But I don’t belong there.”

“Yes, you do,” you whispered. “Because I want you there. Daryl, it was never because of you. Not telling you about the money. It was because I didn’t want this to change.” 

He sighed and stepped closer, flicking at your earring lightly. “Those’re real, right? Rubies?” 

“Yes.” 

He nodded, eyes on the stones, and this was it. Your stomach churned and fell toward your feet, tears burning in your eyes as he studied your earrings. He was going to break up with you. You were going to lose him after all, damn it. 

“Must hurt ya ears,” he said lightly, and his fingers swept the side of your face, his hand cupping your cheek. 

You swallowed hard and licked at suddenly dry lips. “Yeah. They went numb about forty minutes in.” 

“Ya like parties like that?” 

His eyes were intense on yours and you shrugged. “Sometimes. I like my friends. I love my father, my mother’s friends. They aren’t all bad.” 

“Naw, we had a few nice chats,” he agreed. “Ain’t my scene.”

“I know,” you whispered. “You don’t have to do it. We can figure something out.”

“Do what?” He asked. “Go to shit like that?”

“Yeah. But I meant break up with me.” You mentally cursed as the first tear slid out. 

Daryl growled, and his lips were against yours out of nowhere. He backed you up into the car, pressing you to it with a hand on your waist as he kissed you like you might just up and disappear. 

A small, needy whine slipped from your throat as you grabbed at his coveralls and yanked him in harder against you, just as desperate and wild as his mouth felt on yours. His hand curled around the back of your neck as he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly. 

“Ain’t breakin’ up with ya, girl. Not cause of two assholes or even some snobby society bitch,” he snarled. “Don’t care if she's ya grandma.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling over your cheeks despite the reassurance. “Thank god. Daryl.” 

“Shut up, aight?” He ordered, and then he made sure you did. 

You weren't totally sure how it happened, but somehow he was frantically unzipping your dress, pushing the straps down your arms so it fell in a puddle of black satin on the garage floor. He stopped kissing you long enough to stare at what you'd worn under it, eyes going primal and possessive as the growl that came from the back of his throat. Suddenly the shopping trip, ribbing from Maggie during it, and her endless teasing while getting you ready were worth every blush and hiss for her to just shut up already. 

He reached for you, tracing the bare skin of your leg between the thigh-high hose and the hem of the sheer negligee you’d settled on after much debate. Garters held up the thigh highs up and the negligee down, and Daryl hooked a finger around one, rubbing the silky ribbon absently with his thumb. 

“Ya been wearin this the whole time?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to do more than whimper if you tried to speak. He ran his free hand down your body, over your breast and your side and back up again, his eyes roaming you. 

“Shit. Ya wouldn’t’ve made it inside if I’d known,” he whispered. “Ain’t wearin’ nothin' under this sheer shit.” 

You licked your lips and gave speech a try as he slipped his hand up your inner thigh. “I, ah. Figured I’d make things- things easy.” You trailed off into a moan, eyes closing and knees buckling as he dipped a finger inside you. 

You gasped and grabbed at him when he scooped you up and dropped you onto the workbench nearby. He didn’t give you time to think or catch your breath, hitting his knees and trailing kisses up your thigh as soon as he’d put you down. 

You gripped his shoulders, a growl of your own escaping your lips when his tongue brushed lightly over your clit and had you seeing stars. Your hand locked into his hair and you ground against his mouth, and he sucked obligingly as he flicked his tongue over you again and again. 

“Holy shit, Daryl,” you mumbled, practically incoherent with pure need. “Holy fucking hell.” 

He chuckled, shifting to run a long, hot lick against you. You groaned, tugging on his hair to try to get him to go back to the magic that had you dancing on the edge of orgasm, but he wouldn’t go where you wanted. Instead, he thrust his tongue into you slowly, wet heat that almost sent you flying right then and there. His thumbs rubbed circles on your thighs as he tortured you slowly and thoroughly, driving you just to the edge and pulling back until you were practically sobbing his name, writhing at his every touch while your hands twisted fistfuls of his coveralls and your hips ground against him. 

Finally, when you thought you’d go completely mad from need, he rose in an explosion of movement and crushed his mouth to yours. He drove his fingers deep inside you at the same time, at it took all of two thrusts for you to be crying out his name into his lips, the taste of your own body on his tongue when it swept yours. 

You shuddered, completely undone, and stared as he stripped the coveralls down to hang loose from his waist and fumbled with the zipper on his tuxedo pants. You stayed on the workbench where he'd plopped you, legs spread, aching and needy despite the high he’d just brought you too, and he leaned over and went digging in his tool box. 

When he stuck the condom in his teeth so he could use both hands on his zipper, you couldn’t help the laugh. “Keep condoms in your toolbox? Need those regularly here?” 

“Shut up. Merle put a box in there after ya spent the night at my place the first time. Ain’t taken it out yet,” he muttered around the wrapper. 

You took it from him and ripped it open, holding his eyes as you smoothed it onto him. He trembled as you did, your hands caressing his dick the way he’d done your thigh when he’d stripped your dress off.

Once the condom was in place, he grabbed your hands and held them down flat on the workbench beneath you. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he ordered, and your breath hitched in response to that tone. 

He stepped closer, spreading your legs more as he drew his hands down your thighs. Then he touched your cheek, leaning in to brush a light, tender kiss to your lips even as he thrust into you hard and sudden. 

You cried out, half-surprise and half-pleasure, and he leaned his forehead to yours as he pulled back out slowly. His eyes closed as he thrust in again, the sudden slam of your bodies joining at complete odds with the slow pull to almost completely out of you. You shuddered, keeping still with effort and biting your lip hard enough to taste blood, as he did it again and again. Then he grabbed your hips and buried his face in your neck, picking up the pace as you wrapped your legs around him. 

Fuck not moving, you thought wildly, and grabbed at his hands, locking your fingers with his as he mumbled your name against your shoulder. Something about that- his hands clinging to yours and your name coming from him in that urgent tone- sent you the rest of the way into oblivion, and you came again, crying out his name until he shuddered and claimed your mouth with his as he followed you over the edge. 

You stayed like that, kissing softly and hands entwined, as you floated back to earth and got your breath back. Finally he pulled away, looking almost shy as he reached for a roll of paper towels and offered them to you. 

“So, uh. Yeah. I ain’t- I ain’t mad,” he muttered. You laughed until he laughed too and your sides ached from it. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come home with me,” you told him a bit later, spinning your phone between the fingers of one hand. 

“Gonna?”

“Yeah. Thing is, Maggie sent me about ten messages. It seems Grandmother was not pleased with me and is in my apartment waiting for me to get back so she can give me the verbal thrashing she thinks I deserve,” you said with a roll of your eyes. 

He scoffed. “Didn’t like her none.” 

“I imagine the feeling was mutual,” you told him dryly. “So. Do I go face the music or are you going to invite me to your place?” 

He tossed his hair from his eyes and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. “Come home with me. Ain’t asking. I’m telling.” 

“Well then,” you whispered back, blushing beneath that look like you had when you’d first laid eyes on him. “I guess I have no choice.” 

“Don’t know how ya gonna ride the bike in that dress though,” he said with a wicked grin. 

You scoffed. “Please. We’ll take my car.” 

“Guess I can live with that.” 

Daryl’s tee shirt was too big on you, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t like you could hang around the garage in a gown, Vera Wang or not, and while you’d scrounged up some leggings and a sports bra in your gym bag in the back of the Camaro, shirts had been in short supply. 

And you weren’t ready to go home. Not with Grandmother no doubt still waiting, and Daryl and Merle making you laugh until you couldn’t breathe. Not with the cup of coffee in your hand and Daryl muttering under his breath about something about stubborn engines and the radio on loud and Merle’s rough cursing. 

No, you weren’t leaving yet. You had your laptop in your lap and you were answering emails cross legged on the workbench beside Daryl’s toolbox, but the shop could run without you for today. You’d planned on taking it off anyway, and no doubt Cynthia Elizabeth Carmichael would find you soon enough. For now, you just wanted to laugh and enjoy the Dixon brothers. 

“Hey baby, hand me that flathead, would ya?” 

You leaned over and fished it from the toolbox, one hand still typing madly, and tossed it underhanded at Daryl. He snatched it from the air and grinned at you, and you grinned back before returning to your email. 

“Well, well. Darlin’, please say ya lookin’ for me,” Merle said, the asshole tone from when you’d first met coming through loud and clear. You finished typing and hit send rapidly as Daryl groaned. 

“He’s fuckin’ harrassin’ customers again. Damn it, I cain’t stop right now,” Daryl grunted out, voice strained with effort. 

You looked at him and blinked, since he was now half under the engine with those damn arm muscles straining in a truly delightful display you could have stared at for hours. You hopped from the counter and set your laptop down, already heading toward the door despite the view. Someone out there was about to get called 'sugar tits' and they might not take it as well as you did. “I got it; don’t worry.” 

“You’re Merle,” a familiar voice said flatly from outside.

“Hell yes I am. Have we met, sugar-“

“Call her sugar tits and she’ll punch you in the nose, you dick,” you informed Merle, smiling as you stepped out and saw the owner of the voice giving Merle a look. “Mags, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Macon for that farming conference.” 

She hugged you and rolled her eyes at Merle's appreciative noise. “Normally I’d enjoy tradin’ insults with you, mister Dixon, but YN has a major problem and she don’t even know it. Where’s Daryl?” 

“Inside,” you said, stomach churning. “What’s going on?” 

“Cynthia’s on a tear. She didn’t leave your place last night and she called me about twelve times. Your daddy called me too when she showed up at his place at six this morning, all set to have the lawyers take a look at your trust fund and your stake in the company. She told your dad it was because of your performance as president and that you were missin’.” 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath. “Hope you set him straight on that.” 

“Who do you think I am? Of course I did. But seriously, what the hell did you two do last night? Your grandmother was ready to-“ Maggie cut off when a long black car pulled into the gravel lot, her expression pained. “Outta time. Sorry, sweetie. Came as soon as I could.” 

“My life for you. Run before you get called my farmer friend,” you advised her, and she squeezed your hand and bolted for her car. 

“Call me later?” She yelled before she got in, and you nodded. 

“Merle, I’m going to ask you to be on your best behavior,” you said firmly. You drew your mother’s dignity on like a cloak, smoothing down your hair and tugging Daryl’s shirt straight where it hit the tops of your thighs. “At least until I tell you otherwise.” 

Merle was eyeing you as Grandmother’s driver opened her door. “Shit, sugar tits. Ya worried I’ll embarrass ya?” 

“Not at all. But this is a family affair and I’m about to make a scene,” you told him, smile firmly in place. “Trust me, if you stay out of the crossfire, it’ll be better for everyone.” 

He snorted, but you flashed him a pleading look and he held his hands up before crossing his arms and leaning on a car. Daryl walked out, apparently free from the engine now, with a cigarette between his lips. Grandmother ran a critical eye over the shop from beside her vehicle, displeasure radiating from her every sharp movement. Daryl's hand touched your lower back and you leaned into his side before stepping forward. 

“Grandmother. Lovely to see you, as always,” you greeted her. 

She sniffed, eyes taking in your outfit. “The man’s shirt, I'd hazard a guess. You didn’t come home last night and now I see why.” 

“I spent the night with Daryl, yes,” you said. “Would you like a second introduction? I assume you’re here to apologize.” 

“I’m here for no such thing,” she countered, jaw right. “You will leave with me at once. We will stop by your apartment for proper clothes, and then we will have a meeting with your father and the lawyers to discuss your behavior.” 

“No,” you said. “I’m taking today off. I’ll be in my office tomorrow if you’d like to discuss scheduling a meeting with the lawyers. My father can reach me whenever he wishes, on my cell. If you’d like to meet my boyfriend and his brother, however, I’d love to introduce you properly. We can get you a coffee if you’d like.” 

Grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “You’re forgetting who I am, child.” 

“You’re my grandmother. This is my boyfriend, Daryl, and his brother Merle,” you answered with a shrug.

“This is a mechanic. While his reputation and work are stellar, he is a tradesman. I thought you’d put this kind of relationship behind you when you agreed to marry Philip.” 

Daryl’s hand touched your back again, his voice cautious when he spoke. “Ma’am, I’m-“

“I know who you are. I know your brother there is in and out of prison and you bail him out. I know you own this garage; purchased with money from your brother’s drug dealings no doubt, or perhaps your own. I know you’re a scoundrel looking to move in on the Carmichael money by bedding my granddaughter,” Cynthia snapped. “Well, you won’t succeed.” 

“Grandmother! That’s enough!” you snarled, shocked and pissed beyond belief. You'd expected a row, but this? This was unbelievable. 

“No, it isn’t,” she cut you off, turning to you and looking down her nose. “You've had your fun and your youthful rebellion. I allowed you to remain friends with the farm girl. I allowed you to date this type of boy until you’d had your heart broken enough times to see sense. Philip was a poor choice; I admit to that. But it’s time to be done with this foolishness. You will leave these two and this place; you will stop your association with the farm girl; and you will allow me to find you a match from within our circles. Simon Hearst is single again. He has political ambitions and would be perfectly suitable.” 

“Ya got a mighty big stick up ya ass for such a tiny broad, lady,” Merle drawled in a dangerous tone. 

Daryl muttered something under his breath that sounded like “shut the fuck up”, but Merle shook off Daryl’s hand and stepped forward. Grandmother drew herself up and shot him the look that had quelled generations and world leaders, and you winced. 

Merle acted like he barely noticed. “That's a damn good look, too, but I'm a drug-dealin' criminal, remember? Don't work on me. Ya got a lot of nerve, comin' on our property and insultin' us. Hell, though, ain't the first time, is it, lil bro? But ya bein' a right bitch to ya granddaughter too, and that'un surprises me a bit. Way Ol' Merle sees it, ya outta be nicer to someone ya think ya gonna convince to agree with you." 

"I see no reason to explain myself to a convicted felon," Grandmother declared frostily. 

You sighed and kissed Merle's cheek, making him jerk in surprise. "Thanks, sweetcheeks, but it's not necessary. I've got this." 

"If ya say so, sugar tits," he said with a shrug, trying for casual. You could see the flush in his cheeks though, and you wondered how much was temper and how much was your sudden display of affection. 

"Grandmother-" you started, turning back to her, but she interrupted you in that way she never tolerated from others but practiced all the time. 

"Y/N Addison, which of these two unwashed hicks are you actively engaging in sexual relations with?" 

Ok, that did it. You'd been annoyed and displeased, furious with her for her insults toward Daryl and Merle, but that just pushed it over the edge. You drew in a deep breath and looked down your nose in the move you'd learned at her knee, tempted to say 'both' just to really piss her off. 

"How dare you? You come here, chasing me down after insulting Daryl and myself last night to the point that we both left, and stand on their property and insult them? You've used belittling and an iron control of the Carmichael finances to dominate the family for years, Grandmother, and you're still attempting the same maneuver. But you keep forgetting one crucial fact." You took a step toward her, lips curving upward in a perfect society smile- part genuine and part bitchy, the way only a Southern Belle born and raised could manage. "My trust fund is now solely in my name, and there's nothing you can do about it. You put me in charge of the shop, and I am the one who holds the majority share of the Carmichael stock. Your attempt to bring me back under your thumb after college, when I remained friends with 'the farm girl' and made plans to strike out on my own, only set me up to live my life exactly how I wanted to live it, and that is what I plan to do." 

You sighed and reached for her hand as her face went white and pinched. "Grandmother, I love you. I love the family, and I love my job. But you cannot belittle the man I love in front of me and then expect me to fall in line. That's not how this works." 

She jerked her hand from yours even as what you'd just let slip sank in, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek and prayed Daryl hadn't noticed. And more urgently, that Merle hadn't. 

How the hell had it just popped out like that? Good lord, the crazy person that Daryl had turned you into your first time here was back, and she was burning bridges like a madwoman judging by the look on your grandmother's face. 

Well, nothing to be done about it now, you decided. 

"You have obligations-" Grandmother began. You took a page from her book and interrupted. "Family obligation can only be pushed so far, Grandmother. My life is my own. My money is my own; and by your own wishes, the family business is mine as well. I will remain friends with 'the farmer's daughter', as you insist on calling Maggie, and I will continue to date Daryl for as long as he'll have me. You cannot stop me. There is nothing you can take from me that I cannot live without, and that would be the case even if you find some way to remove my trust or remove me from my job." 

You lifted your hand in a commanding gesture to her driver- something else you'd learned from her, watching her run the company she'd willingly signed over to you- before extending a cool hand in her direction. "I'll see you Monday at the board meeting, unless there's something more you'd like to discuss." 

From behind you, Merle snorted loudly. "I think what she meant to say, ma'am, is fuck off before I call the cops an' have ya thrown off our property. Won't that look good on that society page in the Atlanta Times?" 

You felt a slight twinge of worry as your Grandmother's car pulled away, wondering if you needed to schedule a visit with the lawyers yourself. You were reasonably certain your trust and the stock were unequivocally yours, but it wouldn't hurt to check, right? She could feasibly convince the board to vote you out of the presidency, but you had a feeling that would be an uphill battle for her. 

And even if she succeeded, your record and resume spoke for themselves. It wasn't like you hadn't had other offers. 

You realized you were staring at the empty road to put off facing Daryl and Merle, and that just wouldn't do. You weren't that much of a coward, were you? 

Merle chuckled behind you. "Havin' second thoughts, sugar tits?" 

God. Of course you weren't. You turned and lifted an eyebrow at him, giving him the best down-your-nose look you could muster considering the smile you couldn’t quite tame. He grinned and winked at you. 

"Lady of the plantation look ain't workin' too well, darlin'. See where ya get it from now. No offense, but ya gramma's a bitch." 

"Yes," you agreed with a shrug. "Yes, she is. I'm so sorry. To both of you. Jesus, the things she said- I knew she'd have opinions but I never thought she'd- I'm so sorry." 

"Shit, baby. Only thing she said that wasn't true was that I's after ya money," Daryl said lightly. He was staring at you, his eyes all intense again, and you could feel your cheeks flaming under it. 

You were praying he hadn't caught you saying you loved him, but you had a sinking feeling that was a pipe dream. "Still. She was insulting and- and just- Please accept my apology on her behalf, since it's unlikely she ever will." 

Daryl shot a look at Merle, his eyes dancing and his tone amused. "I love it when she gets all flustered an' pulls out that proper society voice." 

"It's damn cute, comin' from the girl who took one look at ya on the bike and declared she wanted to ride," Merle agreed, his grin wicked as he winked at you again. 

"That is not-" you began hotly, but Daryl laughed. 

"Shit. Sounds about right, since I took one look at her all cool and put together an' thought, 'I wanna mess her up and see what's underneath'," he told Merle. 

You opened your mouth to speak and snapped it closed again without a word as Daryl's intense eyes landed on yours. He stalked forward, coveralls tied around his waist and grease smeared over his tank and the bare muscles of his arms. You held your ground, but it was a close thing, as the air filled with a simmering anticipation and anxious foreboding. 

Moment of truth, right here, you thought as he stood in front of you and studied your face. You'd said you loved him, and he'd definitely heard it. Was this the end, or the beginning of something else? 

Jesus, wouldn't it be just fucking perfect if you'd blasted Grandmother only to have to tell her he'd dumped you? Cynthia Elizabeth Carmichael would gloat for years. 

"So," he said softly. "Ya love me, huh?" 

You bit at your lower lip and smoothed a hand over your hair. "I, ah- I mean-" 

"Ya love me." It wasn't a question this time, and the look in his eyes now had your knees going weak and your throat going dry. 

You swallowed hard and threw caution to the winds. "Yeah. I love you." 

"Even though I'm a dirty tradesman an' a scoundrel an' my brother's a criminal sometimes?" 

That was easy. That was simple. You lifted your lip in a sneer. "Yeah. I knew all that already. Think I'm slumming?" 

His lips twitched in a slight smile and he tossed hair from his eyes. "Naw. Just wanna make sure ya know what you're getting into. See, thing is, Miss Addison…" 

He trailed off, reaching up to brush hair back from your face and skim his knuckles down your cheek. "I love ya too." 

A foolish grin bloomed and you leaned into him. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. "Gonna get grease on ya." 

"I don't care. You love me?" you asked, fingers sliding into his hair at the back of his neck. "Even though I'm a snobby society bitch and have, frankly, more money than God, and my grandmother will make your life hell for the fun of it?" 

He scoffed and tossed his head, lowering his forehead to yours. "Shit, baby. Think I care about that?" 

"Naw. Just wanna make sure you know what you're getting into," you whispered. 

His lips met yours and you sank into the kiss, the spearmint and cigarette taste of him filling your mouth as you did. His hands were gentle on your back as he pulled you in, and you were starting to think this was what heaven felt like. 

Then Merle wolf-whistled behind Daryl and he broke the kiss with a groan. You flipped Merle off cheerfully and he laughed and winked at you. 

Daryl sighed and took your hand. "Still wanna ride?" 

"You or the bike?" you fired back, and stepped in for another kiss.


End file.
